Page 33 of A Trap So Flawless

It’s like coming across a hibernating animal. Something massive, something dangerous, something that could kill you with a mere swipe of its claws…

Something beautiful.

My God, he really is gorgeous. The sun has moved around the building, tossing velvety beams of gold over the marvel of Darragh’s body, the hard planes and long limbs, that dark russet hair and the darker lines of his tattoos.

I’m at the side of the bed before I feel my own feet move.

I’ve never seen him quite this exposed. Usually he’s at least got a shirt, or jeans, or something. Even when we had sex, all he did was take off his suit jacket and unzip his pants. The rest of his clothing stayed on.

Tentatively, I reach out, brushing my fingers along a thorny vine of ink that traverses his shoulder. His deep and even breathing doesn’t stutter, shift, or halt. So I keep going, stealing a quiet moment with this placid, unknown Darragh. My fingers eventually find that scattered constellation of nail marks made permanent by ink. I shift my grip, pressing my fingers and thumb against the tattooed dots.

A perfect fit. I don’t know why that’s surprising. I don’t know why it feels like we shouldn’t fit together this way anymore.

But we do.

Darragh makes a noise in his sleep. A tightness enters his jaw. Is he dreaming? He said that when he was in Halifax, he dreamed of me.

I wonder if sleep makes me a stranger to him, too.

I pull my hand from his forearm, letting my fingertips whisper up his arm once more to his shoulder, then to his chest, feeling the curling bronze hair there. There are dice inked into his side, along his ribs and waist. One die has a skull drawn on its side. I trace the fleshless face with the smooth oval tip of my fingernail, still painted a demure ivory-pink for the wedding.

Darragh’s abdomen contracts against my touch, making the hardened outlines of his muscles come into stark, sunlit focus. His hips shift, and despite the water evaporating from my skin, I go achingly hot at the unmistakeable jerk of his flesh beneath the thin black fabric.

I shouldn’t be touching him like this. I can’t be.

He isn’t mine. And I never wanted him to be.

I pull my hand away, but Darragh suddenly rolls, catching my wrist in his grip. I gasp and feel my cheeks flush, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. But I still don’t think he’s really awake. His eyes remain closed as he pulls me so hard that my towel comes loose and I go tumbling, naked, onto the bed.

I fall heavily, half on top of him, but even that doesn’t wake him up. He just rolls again, taking me with him, until we’re lying on our sides, front to front. His left hand is still resting beneath his head, only now my own head is cushioned on his arm. His other arm is locked around me, his hand a hot, possessive stamp across my lower back. He groans a little bit, then his hand slides down to my hip. He grips my thigh and hikes my leg up over his waist, shoving his own thigh between my legs.

Almost every part of me is touching him. My breasts brush his chest, my nipples tingling with every one of his inhales. My bare pussy is plastered against the hard claim of his thigh. The flesh of his cock is hot and swollen against my belly.

He slumbers on. I watch him for as long as I can keep my eyes open. I keep telling myself that I’ll get up in one more minute. One more minute, and then I’ll leave. One more minute, and then I’ll go look for another bed to sleep in, picking my way through the house like Goldilocks until I find one that doesn’t have a bear in it.

One more minute.

Just… Just one…

Chapter 13

Darragh

She’s here with me in dreams. So vivid that I can feel her hair beneath my lips. Hear the soft rustle of her breathing. I don’t want to wake up.

Because when I wake up, she’ll be gone.

I sink into the dream, the sensation of her body against mine, her back pressed to my front. Lust thickens in my veins, and I don’t know if it’s my dream dick or my real dick but I am harder than I’ve ever been. I roll my hips, then thrust desperately against her, until my cock is nestled tightly between her thighs.

She gives a sleepy moan. I can feel myself waking more now. And I fight it with everything I have. If the dredges of dreams are all I’ll get of her, I’ll hold on to them with everything I’ve got.

Fighting wakefulness, fighting time, I grip her hip and adjust myself. I pull myself free of my underwear and then draw back until my cock isn’t shoved forward between her thighs, but primed at the entrance to her pussy. I drag my leaking tip along her slit, then nudge myself inside. Hot. Tight. Not very wet yet, which only makes her even tighter. I’m already on the verge of coming with the pathetic immediacy and thrilling intensity of a teenage wet dream.

“Darragh!” A strangled gasp. “Wait!”

Sleep is deserting me. But strangely, Valentina isn’t. The more I wake up, the more visceral each sensation becomes. The clamping heat of her pussy on the tip of my cock. The miserably perfect plushness of her hip beneath my fingers. When my eyes flicker open, it’s not the black hair I aways see when I’m asleep, but wild and wavy strands, some brown, but most of them blonde, looking nearly silver in the darkness.

She’s here. She’s real.

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